Ghost Eyes
by Lady Sherlock Bell of Monsea
Summary: "Bitterblue was haunted by the sight of a certain pair of uneven purple eyes." Set after the book "Bitterblue".


_**Disclaimer: ALL characters and settings etc belong to Kristin Cashore and her publishers. :)**_

Bitterblue couldn't believe she was doing this. She was queen; she could afford anything she wanted. But one thing she couldn't afford was regretting this. _I will not regret this_, she tried to reassure herself.

She took a deep breath, and turned to Po.

"I'm ready."

And if there had been any chance to back out, it was gone now. There was no going back.

Po nodded, and she and Hava walked from the room, Hava helping to hold her dress. Each step reverberated throughout her.

Her people lined the streets, cheering and waving and smiling. In the past six years, the welfare of her country had improved – perhaps not dramatically, exactly, but she could not expect that. It would take years more for her country to recover fully. So far, they had made good progress, and today was clearly boosting the morale greatly; it would do the people good. No, she certainly couldn't back out now.

Suddenly anxious, she reached for Po's hand for comfort, hoping to direct all her nervous energy to clutching onto it, so that in her face, she might look happy. She plastered on a smile, turned to watch the crowds through the carriage window, and waved as the people craned their necks to catch a glimpse of their queen. Opposite her, Hava shrank away from the window and willed herself into a mirror image of Bitterblue's bouquet of white roses.

They arrived all too soon. Po helped her from the carriage, he and Hava – in her true form – having to hold her dress' train so she did not step on it. It was only a short walk into the entrance of the building, no more than a few steps – for Po's long stride, anyway – but it was long enough; Bitterblue took in the faces, the shouts, the smiles of the people who tried get closer to her from behind the line of guards. She did not trust her hand to remain steady if she lifted it to wave to them, so she simply did her best to smile and concentrate on those few steps to sealing both her future and her country's future.

And then her smile vanished. She wasn't sure if she could trust what she had seen or if she had merely imagined it, but nonetheless, as Po led her inside, Bitterblue was haunted by the sight of a certain pair of uneven purple eyes. Words Saf had once said to her echoed in her head: he could never be royalty, he could never be king, he could never marry her. She hadn't seen him in so long, and suddenly the memories of so many emotions flooded her. Feeling vaguely dizzy, Bitterblue tightened her grip on Po's arm.

Even more people were gathered inside, and they stood from their seats like a tidal wave of people as she entered, sending her vision spinning. An organ began to play, and Po and Hava escorted her down the aisle.

And then they stopped and the support of Po's arm was gone; she felt suddenly lost and alone like a boat at sea. Then she felt a pair of hands taking hold of hers, but the boat did not land safely in the harbour; no. For these hands belonged to Lord Giddon, and despite his close friendship, he brought no comfort when all she could think of was that uneven purple gaze watching her in that one moment outside the building. She pushed away the memories that those eyes brought from the back of her mind, praying the tears would not spill over without her consent as she lifted the veil over her head. Giddon smiled encouragingly down at her, squeezing her hands, and she forced herself to smile back at him. _He's been through so much, and he's been such a good friend_, she thought as the ceremony began, reminding herself of the reasoning that had brought her to her decision when she'd received his proposal. _He would make a good king, and I need a husband and an heir_. Other than love, which, in the world of politics, was irrelevant, she had not been able to think of a real reason to refuse.

She managed to calm down with the help of a few quick calculations, and then as the words floating in the air around her began to reach her ears and make sense of themselves, she forced herself to concentrate on the ceremony. But as soon as the words stopped, she found her mind jumbled again, with nothing to concentrate on. Were there any objections? The question was met with a disorientated silence. All Bitterblue saw was Saf, standing outside, waiting for her to emerge, the wife of the Middluns-born Monsean lord who by then would be, technically, the king. It was as if her thinking of him, and he standing only outside, was an objection in itself, and Bitterblue was surprised to realise that nobody else noticed it.

She strained her ears to hear Saf's voice, but it never came. The ceremony continued.

A question; a pause, barely as brief as a single breath, as a single blink. She heard Giddon's voice utter two soft words – but what, her panicked ears couldn't make out.

And then all attention turned to her.

Her heart raced, not knowing what to say – what was she expected to say? And images of Saf whizzed under her eyelids and blurred her vision and muddled her thoughts and twisted her tongue. People stared. Her mouth turned dry, and her lips struggled to form words. Eventually she forced her voice from her throat and a smile to her face. She was not aware, exactly, of what she said, but they all smiled at her, so she figured she must have said the right thing.

Rings were exchanged, and Giddon kissed her. It didn't quite feel right, kissing Giddon. He was a friend. You didn't kiss friends like that. But he was her husband, now, she reminded herself. She didn't know how long it would take her to get used to it. If she ever got used to it.

_There_, she thought. _That's it, now. Done. Over. I can't change my mind now, it's done. _She finally let herself breathe, let the image of Saf dissolve in her mind. Nothing she could do. She would just have to forget, and get on with her life.

And now, only now, as she and Giddon turn to walk back down the aisle hand-in-hand, did she relax enough to take in her surroundings. In the front row stood a beautifully dressed but distressed Katsa, whose refusal to be a bridesmaid had become ungrounded on Helda making her wear a dress just as extravagant anyway. To her left were Po and Hava, both smiling; to Katsa's right stood Raffin and Bann, all representing the Middluns, the Council and friendship. A few rows behind them were all six of Po's brothers, Bitterblue's cousins, with their wives and families, and their father, King Ror of Lienid, Bitterblue's uncle, who gifted her with a regal nod as she passed. In the crowd, she spotted Helda, who was trying not to cry, and Death, smiling slightly, and Rood, escorted by his family. Lady Fire had come to represent The Dells, with an older man by her side who Bitterblue had met only once before, a few days ago when the Dellian Prince and his wife had arrived with their escorts.

The closer she got to the doors, the more the warm feeling that had barely had chance to settle in her chest evaporated. She was not looking forward to the wedding reception, but she knew who she would pass on her way, and this was what she dreaded. She had thought it would not bother her, had thought to _make_ it not bother her, but it would, and it was doing, already. She knew two things: first, that she couldn't look at him, for it would surely break her heart, and second that she wouldn't be able to stop herself from seeking that one last glance nevertheless.

But when they exited to cheers and confetti and sunshine, there was not a single trace of Saf to be seen.

Bitterblue didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed.


End file.
